I dreamed I was in a place, a house
with walls of honey and thorns.
In borrowed flesh,
I picked grapes from a stem,
sliced cheese from a wheel,
and waited for the years to come around again.
There was a woman there, born of blackbird and strandwolf.
She was warm, her hair light, and she was not mine.
Taking my loneliness, she carved a half-moon off
and held me in her calm-water arms in a shaded hour.
It was the closest I have been in such a long time
to the glory of the temple or the bells in the open tower.
I dreamed I was in a place, a house
with rooms made of mist and ash.
I was the one who arrives as the season allows,
the Janus-faced magpie of a moment
the one tile out of place in the famous mosaic,
the one who was fed, and held, who came, and went.
I dont have words enough to praise this poem. Stunned by "There was a woman there, born of blackbird and strandwolf." and the calm-water arms and shaded hour. The rooms of mist and ash. Gorgeous writing. Wowzers. Your poems are worth waiting for, and not to be missed.
ReplyDeleteStunning, Shay. Have you ever read The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter? This poem is like one of the characters in that book. A beautiful young woman who lives alone in a rackety old house in a deserted neighbourhood until by chance a lone traveller passes by, lost, and knocks on her door asking for help and ends up staying the night. And she almost eats him (cos that's what she does to lone travellers and they always fall in love with her on sight) but in the end he ends up saving her, and himself. It's quite a dark but redemptive love story overall. Anyway, the voice of this poem reminded me of her character.
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